


Knowing What You Know Now

by Dreadful Weather Today (TearoomSaloon)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Pregnancy, Spoilers, no fluff here friends, sort of I mean we know they're gonna frick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/Dreadful%20Weather%20Today
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She missed her period. She missed her period and she missed her pill and she knew whom she'd last slept with, and it didn't calm her nerves an inch. It must be a nightmare, there was no way she could—could be carrying the devil's child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing What You Know Now

**Author's Note:**

> Someone made a post and then I wrote a fic.

Her stomach bottomed out at the close of the day. It had been a week and still the red didn’t run from her body. She had been regular since the second year of high school, dates indicating in bright crimson ink when she would double over with cramps and curl into the couch, slowly becoming part of the furniture. It didn’t happen Monday, or Tuesday, or Sunday. When had she missed her pill? When had she last _taken_ her pill? When had she needed that pill?

Oh.

She slid down the bathroom wall, anchoring herself to the chilling tiles freezing her hot palms. She had taken it. She had been taking it that month. Hadn’t she? She must have, oh she must—

She couldn’t have. _No_. She had slept with someone else since, hadn’t she, hadn’t she? She didn’t need a plus sign to tell her what had begun to happen in her body, what was growing in her. The heat rolled in her belly, rolled in her ears, consuming her with thick coursing lava. It spilled from eyes and fled down her cheeks, burning little puddles into the cold floor.

 _Monster_.

The child of a monster would be born of her flesh. And it would be hers, too, this sin brewing inside. Her child, _her child_. A whine spilled from her throat and flooded the air, pouring down and out the cracks of the door.

The hinges creaked as the handle turned, the sliver of a pale face peeking in through the gloom of the dark house. His eyes were deep wells in the moonlight, growing wide at the sight of her crumpled on the floor, her cheeks flushed and face puffy. “Is everything all right?”

She shook her head violently, the emotions cracking out of her vocal cords as the sobs came to wrack her body. He entered the small room, closing the door to protect her privacy from what, she didn’t know. He kneeled before her and tucked a tear-soaked strand of hair behind an ear, a gesture so human and foreign for the noble demon it struck her from her tears. She collected her voice and swallowed the fear in her throat. The words came out as ghosts, wisps of smoke that never reached his ears.

“Alana?” His tone was concerned and she couldn’t tell if it were real or feigned, but it made her shiver.

“I’m pregnant.” The words were solid this time, ricocheting off the walls, echoing in the shower, hiding in the curtains.

“Are you sure?” The timbre changed. The mask of his face fell away to reveal an uncharacteristic emotion—fear. His eyebrows rose and the skin around his eyes grew taut.

The humanity of the devil scared her further and she wanted desperately to take it back. Her muscles betrayed her and she nodded her head, the hiccups joining her staggered breath, composure decomposing again.

Steel arms pressed her to a strong, wide chest warm with the fires of immorality. Iron bars like a cage, but she felt safe. Secure. Stable in her instability. She molded to him, hands cold and useless around his neck, tears streaking his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it was as much my fault as yours.”

“I have the progeny of the devil in my womb.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m not the _devil_ , Alana.”

“You’re a monster in the very least.”

“I will not disagree.” Claws tickled her back in an attempt to reassure her, though it only made her uneasy. “Do you intend to carry the child to term?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, Hannibal.” She didn’t want to. Oh, she did not want to. She had always assumed if the issue came up, she would have no problem aborting a fetus, but now the thought of cutting a life from her insides made her squirm. It was hers, a small cluster of cells that would grow to be hers. Her red blood would run in the child’s veins alongside the black ichor of its father’s.

She felt sick, nauseas, like when she first discovered…what he was. When the masquerade lifted and the demon in the blood-soaked clothes sauntered towards her, hoofs clicking on the wood floor. He had taken her innocence and robbed her integrity. He smeared the darkness onto her hands, staining her with his intent. She wouldn’t come out clean, she wouldn’t come out undamaged, and Jack would never trust words from her lips, though she had been unaware.

The thorn in her heart poisoned her, and she had no strength to get up and run from it, to emerge from the debris as unscratched as possible. Instead she sunk into him, plunging like an anchor into the deception of his nature. She wanted no part in this game, but he tangled her so gracefully into his puppet strings, her heart knotted disgustingly to his, the venom slithering down the threads, bleeding into her.

His lips fluttered across her forehead. She hated his gentleness. She hated that he took care of her like a proper lover; giving her passion she wasn’t sure he even felt. Giving her love she was nearly positive he didn’t feel. But she couldn’t tell, she couldn’t tell and so she never swayed no matter how sullied her skin became, no matter how polluted her body was, no matter how dark the strands of her soul had grown.

She feared him. She feared him as much as she loved him, and for that she couldn’t pick her bones out of the mess on his table, content to lie with the devil when he called her to his bed.

She laughed when the sobs died down, fingers in his hair. How cruel was life. Motherhood—a grace upon women, a pure, gentle existence. A child—small and helpless, full of potential and innocence. Neither concept fit into the situation. Neither would be true.

As she slept that night, head on his pillow, hands on his body, she dreamed of a bright-eyed child with star-shaped teeth who held the heavens in her clawed hands.


End file.
